Prove it
by MyPartnerInCrime
Summary: Sherlock is convinced he can do pretty much anything. John is determined to prove him wrong. "Jumping off a cliff does not count as flying, Sherlock." "It does until I hit the ground."
1. Giving Birth?

_Hello, this is my first Sherlock fanfic, so I hope I've portrayed the characters at least somewhat realistically. Please tell me what you think!_

_Disclaimer: I (unfortunately) do not own Sherlock.  
_

* * *

Dr. John Watson stared at his flatmate disbelievingly, one eyebrow raised. "No you can't, Sherlock."

Sherlock Holmes was draped over his favourite armchair, feet dangling off one end, head tilted towards John with a smirk pulling up one side of his mouth.

"I'm sorry Sherlock, but you can't do _everything._"

"Close enough."

"Giving birth."

Sherlock mused this over for a bit before admitting, "Everything minus that."

John rolled his eyes. "Can you prove this in any way at all?"

"Why should I?"

"Because I don't believe you!" exclaimed John, slightly exasperatedly.

"You think I'm lying?"

"No, I think you're exaggerating."

"Same thing." There was a short silence while John Watson despaired over the ridiculousness of the Consulting Detective.

"Fly."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Aeroplane."

"Sherlock."

"Cliff."

"Jumping off a cliff does not count as flying Sherlock."

"It does until I hit the ground."

John considered this. There was really no way of arguing that point.

"What about…shopping."

Sherlock looked confused. "Anyone can go shopping John."

"You never go shopping!"

"That doesn't mean I can't."

"Prove it."

"Ugh, dull."

"I knew it." John smirked.

"What?" Sherlock tilted his head towards John again.

"I've found something the infamous Sherlock Holmes can't do."

"What?" Sherlock quickly sat up, facing John in a glare. "I could go shopping any time I liked."

"I don't believe you." Said John, keeping his face blank.

Sherlock jumped to his feet and grabbed his coat and scarf. At first John thought he was storming off in a sulk.

"Come on John."

"Where are you going?"

"Shopping." John raised his eyebrows. "But you're coming too. So you know I don't cheat, but mostly so this isn't just a way of me getting the shopping while you sit at home laughing behind my back."

"Right." John was struggling to keep a straight face. He got up and put his coat on, following a determined Sherlock out the door.


	2. Shopping

_Hello again...sorry for updating twice in one day, but I'd written it and thought I might as well put it up here! Please tell me what you think!_

_Sherlock is not mine =)  
_

* * *

"Sherlock!" John pulled the taller man's arm and lead him away from the security guard.

"…just saying!" Sherlock called over his shoulder at the alarmed looking guard.

"Sherlock…"

"What? It was obvious!"

"I'm sure, but I don't think he wanted everyone to know about his genital warts." Hissed John. "I don't even want to know _how_ you know that."

Sherlock mumbled something that might have been. "Was just trying to help."

"Okay," Said John, inserting a pound coin into the trolley. "You take this to the bread isle while I quickly get some milk."

Sherlock whisked the trolley out of John's hands and pushed it off down the nearest isle, jumping on the back so the trolley carried him forwards. John quickly hurried to get milk before Sherlock got himself into any-

CRASH

Too late.

John ran to the source of the noise, internally rolling his eyes. He rounded the corner and was met with a scene that made him wonder what he was on when he provoked Sherlock into shopping. Sherlock was standing amidst a mess of trolley and canned food. He was engaged in a heated argument with one of the employers.

"I was testing the average speed of the contraption when applying the average push of a human leg. I must say this thing has absolutely no control at all, you may want to invest in trolleys with better steering."

The woman shook her head in confusion. "That is _not_ what the trolleys are for, Sir!"

"I don't see how that is a valid argument." Sniffed Sherlock. "What else are they meant to be for?"

The woman spluttered. "For putting things in!" Sherlock looked blank. "When you go shopping!"

"How dull." Sherlock made to saunter off.

"Excuse me, Sir!"

"I'm sorry, he's with me." John felt this was a good time to intervene. "This is his first time shopping." He explained. Sherlock nodded at the woman as if to say. "So there." and walked away from the mess.

"I'm so sorry about that." John said, bending down to pick up a couple of cans of sweetcorn.

"That's alright Sir. It must be hard work for you." She smiled in sympathy.

"What?"

"Looking after him. My sister works with…_special_ people and I know it's a lot of work."

John had to stifle a snort. "Mm." He agreed and quickly walked off in the direction of Sherlock, standing impatiently at the end of the isle.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Nothing." Sherlock narrowed his eyes but didn't comment. "We still need some bread and…some cheese." Said John, scooping up a basket and avoiding the trolleys. Sherlock was silent right up until they reached the till.

"Oh, can you put this all on the conveyer belt, I just need to get some soap."

"What? Wait! John!" Sherlock called after his retreating back. "Okay…how hard can this be? John does it all the time." He grabbed a handful of groceries and dumped it on the belt. He continued with the same manner of carelessness until he heard an ominous crunch. He rooted through the piles of packaged food until he found… "Oh…eggs…"

He picked the soggy carton of eggs up and then panicked slightly. Now what? He looked around him for a suitable place to stow them.

"Oh sorry love." Apologised a middle aged woman as she bumped into Sherlock whilst she was loading food onto the parallel conveyer belt. Sherlock nodded absentmindedly in her direction and then spotted the large pink bag she had slung over her shoulder. He grinned.

"Sorry, I could find the right-" John broke off when he saw Sherlock standing triumphantly at the end of the checkout, three bags full of groceries.

"Just waiting for the soap and then we can pay." Said Sherlock smoothly.

"Right…" Maybe he underestimated Sherlock a little.

Sherlock practically dropped the shopping bags in the kitchen then went to sit in his chair with his laptop. He was just checking his e-mails when he heard:

"Sherlock! Where are the eggs?" There was a rustling as John checked the plastic bags. Sherlock grimaced. "And the flour…Sherlock! What the hell is this doing in here?"

Sherlock froze. He quickly snapped his laptop shut and bolted out the door, grabbing his coat on the way out.


	3. Foodless

_Hello! It's me again, sorry! I wrote this quite quickly and only read it through once, so please point out any mistakes! I'm not as pleased with this chapter as much as my others._

_Sherlock = Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC, not me._

_

* * *

List of things Sherlock Holmes can NOT do:_

_Give Birth_

_Shop_

…

"What are you doing?" Asked Sherlock somewhat groggily, appearing in his Pyjamas and dressing gown.

"Writing a list." Replied John, folding the piece of paper up and tucking it safely in his pocket. "Would you like some tea?"

"Yes please." Sherlock plonked himself down on the sofa.

"You're up later than usual." Mused John, boiling the kettle.

"Mm."

"Did you sleep well then?"

"Didn't sleep at all." Replied Sherlock, flicking through the newspaper. Then he suddenly said. "But that doesn't mean I can't! I am perfectly capable of sleeping, I just don't feel like it sometimes." He shot John a sour look.

John decided to play dumb. "And why would I think that?"

"Because you're still trying to find things I can't do. I'm not blind. I assure you, you're wasting your time."

"Right-o." John smiled, handing Sherlock a steaming mug. He groaned, realising John was not about to give up.

"Lestrade texted me this morning. He's got something he wants me to take a look at."

"Oh right, well I meant to tell you yesterday, Harry wants me to go stay with her for a couple of days." Sherlock's face fell a little, he had been assuming that John would accompany him to solve this latest case.

"Sorry, unless you'd rather she came here?"

"No no no, that's fine. Have fun." Said Sherlock hastily. He did not enjoy people staying over, prying in his work and exclaiming about the mess and his skull.

"I'll leave this evening, don't worry, there's plenty of food in the fridge. And please try to sleep a little." John realised it sounded like he was talking to a stubborn young child, he hoped he hadn't offended his flatmate. But Sherlock just nodded and sipped his tea.

* * *

John treaded wearily up the stairs. It was always stressful visiting Harry. With the drinking, and the moping which encouraged more drinking. But he didn't want to completely lose contact with his only sibling. So he put up with her and tried (and failed) to help.

He pushed the door open and called out "I'm home!" He hung up his coat on the back of the door.

"Sherlock?" No reply. He looked round the flat and saw him. He was sat at his desk, leaning forwards so his forehead was on the table.

John walked softly towards him. "Sherlock?" A light snore was his only reply. He considered just leaving his flatmate there, he was obviously in need of sleep. But it really didn't look very comfortable.

"Sherlock." Said John softly, shaking his shoulder. Sherlock sat bolt upright, startling John and shouting "The scone is poisoned!"

He looked dazedly around, then tried to stand up, but his legs gave way and he collapsed back into the chair.

"Careful, you probably got a head rush." John said calmly. He looked at Sherlock. Something was not quite right. His eyes were half closed and he looked extremely pale. "Are you alright Sherlock?"

"Me? Yeah…m'fine." He tried to stand up again, this time he managed to remain upright for a few seconds before collapsing to the floor.

"Sherlock!" Exclaimed John in alarm. He knelt down next to his head, feeling his forehead.

"Johhhn." Came a whiney voice. "My head hurts."

"Sherlock…how much have you eaten today?"

"Err…nothing."

"Please tell me you at least drank something." Sherlock shook his head. John groaned. He helped Sherlock sit up and then pulled him over to the sofa.

He walked over to the fridge. He sighed. Exactly as he left it. Which meant…Sherlock hadn't eaten in three days. John filled a glass with water and walked back to the Detective.

"Drink this Sherlock." He pushed the cold glass into Sherlock's hand. He gulped it down clumsily. "Not too fast."

"I've got to-" He made to stand up, waving his hand towards the photos and bits of paper on his desk.

"Oooh no you don't." John pushed him back down. "You don't eat, you don't work."

"Food…slows me down…" Grumbled Sherlock.

"Sherlock. Your brilliant mind may not need food. But you have a human body, that needs energy to keep going. Did you really just…decide not to eat?" Asked John, exasperated. Sherlock mumbled something.

"Sorry?" John asked, leaning forwards slightly.

"I forgot." Sherlock didn't look at him. John pressed his lips together to stop himself smiling. After he made sure Sherlock was comfortable on the sofa he pulled out the list from his pocket and scribbled down three words.

"What are you writing?" Demanded Sherlock weakly. "Show me!" He whined, flailing his hand at his flatmate, as John put it back into his pocket.


	4. Yellow Gloop

_Helloo...me again...hope I'm not boring you!_

_A HUUUGE thanks to _**gogurt, Nova-chan, rupzydaisy, bowtiesarecool, Kit-Kat-AnGel, Valkyrie Vamp, moonagedaydreaming and LollyMc**!_ You guys are ALL awesome._

_I do not own Sherlock!  
_

_

* * *

List of things Sherlock Holmes can NOT do:_

_Give Birth_

_Shop_

_Remember to eat_

…

John filled a saucepan with water and put it on to boil. He pulled out a packet of pasta and stared carefully at the instructions.

"Fifteen minutes…" John muttered to himself. He opened the packet to pour in about a quarter of the packet, after all he was only cooking for himself and Sherlock.

"John!" The cry came so suddenly that John jumped and jerked his hand, causing him to pour the entire packet in the saucepan.

"I don't think you need that much pasta John, unless you suddenly have a ravenous appetite. I would recommend doing about quarter that amount." Commented Sherlock, peeking over John's shoulder.

"Yes. Thank you Sherlock." Said John through gritted teeth. He quickly poured the still raw pasta into a sieve to save it before it cooked.

Re-pouring some pasta into the saucepan. He then proceeded to open a can of chopped tomatoes. He was about to pour it into another pan when Sherlock was suddenly at his shoulder again.

"What are you doing?" Said Sherlock after a while.

"What do you think I'm doing?"

"Doing something completely unnecessary…why cook when there's a perfectly good Chinese round the corner?" Asked Sherlock, his brow burrowed in confusion.

"Sometimes it's nice to cook. It's easy and tasty, why not?" Sherlock didn't reply. John poured the chopped tomatoes into the pan. He buried around in the cupboard looking for the garlic, but when he turned around he saw Sherlock slicing up a banana into the saucepan.

"Sherlock! No!" John rushed over and hurriedly picked out the bits of banana. "What are you doing?"

"I like bananas."

"Yes, but they don't go with tomato sauce!" He added the garlic, watching Sherlock from the corner of his eye.

"This is boring." Muttered Sherlock.

"Then go do something else." Snapped John. Sherlock just sighed heavily. "And cooking is actually harder than it looks." Said John hesitantly, certain Sherlock would recognise what he was doing.

"Pfft, sure." Snorted Sherlock.

"I'm serious. This takes skill."

"No it doesn't. You're doing it wrong anyway." He shoved John out the way and took over control of the meal. John was sure that this meant doom for the pasta, but…it was worth it.

Sherlock stirred the sauce with false confidence, waiting for John to walk away before grabbing a banana. He grinned.

* * *

_Beep beep beep beep beep_

John sprinted into the kitchen, phone ready in hand to call the fire brigade. He couldn't actually see Sherlock through the smoke.

"Sherlock! You okay?" John called.

There was silence. "Err…Yes." Said Sherlock decidedly. John grabbed a newspaper and started trying to waft the smoke away. He finally was able to see Sherlock, bending over a pan of suspicious looking yellow gloop.

"Uhm…Dinner?"

After sniffing the pan and nearly vomiting he choked "I'll pass."

Sherlock frowned and poked the…_thing._ They both stood there for a while in silence.

"Chinese?" Said Sherlock quietly.

"Yup." They both grabbed their coats and walked out the door, Sherlock casting a slightly dejected look back at his cooking attempt. It had looked so easy…


	5. Rug disaster

_**Hello, sorry it took me so long to update! I've been working on a story for my fictionpress account. Also...I need more ideas! Anyone? Any ideas? What should Sherlock try and do next?  
**_

__**_Thanks to all the people who reviewed my last chapter! _**_rupzydaisy_, _Valkyrie Vamp, Nova-chan, LittleElf1, kindle, Kit-Kat-AnGel **and** LittlePippin76 !_

_**Hopefully this chapter is okay!**_  
_

* * *

List of things Sherlock Holmes can NOT do:_

_Give Birth_

_Shop_

_Remember to eat_

_Cook_

…

John Watson walked through the door of his flat, chucked down his work bag and promptly stumbled over a discarded book.

"Good afternoon John." Came the lazy greeting from one Sherlock Holmes, draped dramatically across the armchair, laptop on his lap and typing away. John glanced around the room. He could hardly see the floor it was so covered in things There was not a single surface that was not cluttered up with one of Sherlock's 'experiments' (I put it in quote marks as I am not convinced that they _are_ experiments, let's-annoy-John-ments seems a more appropriate word for them) or an empty mug.

"Sherlock. Are you completely incapable of clearing up after yourself?" Grumbled John, brushing a shoe and a fork off the other armchair and sitting down.

"No. It just wastes time." Replied Sherlock moodily.

"Right."

"Oh no. No, no, no." Sherlock fixed John with a glare.

"What?"

"This is one of those things where you claim I can't do something and then I feel I have to prove it and…" He trailed off. "Anyway. I don't have to do something if you don't believe me. I _know_ I am perfectly able at clearing up and I don't care how much you raise your eyebrow in disbelief. I am not doing it." Finished Sherlock with a huff.

"Sherlock." Said John gently. The dark haired man looked over suspiciously. "It's okay. Everyone has at least something they can't do. It's normal not to be able to do everything." He stood up and walked to his room, patting Sherlock on the head in an extremely patronising manner.

He settled himself on his bed and pulled out his favourite book, smirking to himself.

A couple of hours later, John set down the book, feeling he had given Sherlock enough time now. Sure enough, when John walked back into the living room it was almost unrecognisable. Sherlock was in exactly the same position, but the room was…_tidy_. The books were in the bookshelf, the coats on the back of the door, and Sherlock's experiments were restricted to a very small, neat square of the kitchen table.

John actually gaped. "Sherlock…" The man looked up triumphantly at him. John was about to remark on his (admittedly slightly exaggerated) surprise when he saw something. "What…is THAT?" He pointed down at the rug. Sherlock looked innocently at where John was pointing.

"Oh that…" The rug was no longer red and patterned, rather it had an extremely large greenish yellow stain covering most of it.

"I…what…how…"

"Well…" Sherlock sighed. "Last week one of my experiments overflowed a tad."

"A…tad?"

"That would come right off though. There's some soap and whatnot in the kitchen." He gestured in the general direction of the kitchen and returned to typing on his laptop.

"_I'm_ not going to clean this up." Remarked John in astonishment.

"Oh well…it will have to stay there then."

"No Sherlock!" John exclaimed. Sherlock looked up, confused. "Look, you did an amazing job with the tidying, I'll admit that you _can_ tidy spectacularly. But 'clearing up' normally means _cleaning_ as well." Sherlock frowned. "I always thought you were the kind of man to _finish_ jobs…but hey…I guess I got you wrong…" John sighed, shaking his head and returning to his room.

When he reached his room he realised there wasn't much else to do. He pulled out his laptop and turned it on. But after about fifteen minutes he couldn't find anything else to occupy is time, so he went back downstairs to see if Sherlock had taken the bait. What he saw made him stop dead in his tracks.

Sherlock was standing, looking down at the rug in slight concern, his shirt sleeves were pushed up to his elbows and a bucket of soapy water was standing beside him. In his hand, however, was a round glass bottle with a small amount of clear substance in it. The lid was in his other hand.

Well…technically the stain _was_ gone. He'd got rid of that alright. Only…where the stain used to be was now just a rather large circular hole in the middle of the rug. Well, rug was a generous word, there wasn't really enough material left for it to still be called a rug.

"Sherlock…" Said John dangerously. Sherlock's head snapped up. "…What…"

"The soap wasn't working!" Protested Sherlock pathetically. "So…I used something a bit stronger…"

"…a _bit?"_

"…Sorry…"


End file.
